


Take The Shot

by macgyvershe



Category: Doctor Who-Tenth doctor, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Interaction Sherlock and Number 10, John's love, Pivotal moment in Time, Sherlock's Heart, The shot that kills John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock receives an intriguing package in the mail along with a request to meet him in the dark alleyways of London. He meets the Doctor and adventure ensues. Major character injury. Some snogging and custard creams with clover honey drizzled on top. Yum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take The Shot

**Author's Note:**

> I love number 10 and always thought that I should write a plausible story with Doctor and Sherlock. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I did writing it. As ever your comments are my custard creams with clover honey on top. >:D Star

Sherlock had left John with a long list of leads that needed to be followed. He would be busy for approximately 4.6 hours. There was no way to determine if that would be enough time to resolve Sherlock's current situation, if not he would just have to improvise. He took a taxi to the clandestine meeting with the mystery man. The man who'd sent Sherlock an extremely intriguing missive send within a small box.

The mystery man was tall and, impossibly, thinner than Sherlock. His riot of chestnut colored hair matched well with his dark eyes. He looked to be the same age as Sherlock but his body language and mannerisms told of a terrible antiquity. Interesting. The mystery man was dressed in a bespoke blue suit with a great coat that billowed about him as Sherlock's Belfast did.

“Mr. Holmes, I take it you've examined the package I provided. And please know the traps and safeguards that your brother has attempted have all been neutralized.”

“And how am I to address you?” Sherlock asked. 

“Everyone just calls me the 'Doctor'.” The Doctor didn't elaborate. “Now you have some deductions that you need to articulate.”

“Though you look human, your genetic make ̶ up indicates that you did not evolve here on earth. So alien.”

“The saliva on the stamp,” the Doctor stated. A bit of a whimsical grin on his face.

“The letter enclosed was written on paper identical to that used initially on the Gutenburg press. But your paper was pristine, as if it where pulled from the stack at the side of the press centuries ago. Not possible.”

“True.” The Doctor confirmed.

“The sniper bullet enclosed shows signs of fracture caused by high velocity impact with human bone. The blood and bone on it belonged to John Watson. So extraterrestrial, temporal displacement and in possession of the insurgent bullet that injured John Watson in Afghanistan. You want me to follow you and I will.”

“That was easy.” the Doctor said as he turned to walk down a darkened alley. “There are moments in time Mr. Holmes. Pivotal moments that can't be altered. I'm taking you to one of those moments. You have to be there. What you do in that moment will be dictated by you heart.”

“I've been told I have no heart.” Sherlock said as he easily kept up with the fast moving Doctor.

“We both know John Watson is the heart of you. The bullet you hold in your hand is the one that killed him. He was being a good man. A compassionate man bringing aid to the locals, bridging ideologies and beloved by everyone he came in contact with. He was a fierce solider, protecting and leading his men when his superiors were injured in battle. So he was targeted, marked for death and the bullet fired from the sniper rifle killed him.”

“John didn't die in the war. He's with me, at my side.” Sherlock said adamantly.

They came up to a 1960's police call box. Totally out of place in an alley of modern London. The Doctor removed a key from his pocket and opened the door and entered. Sherlock followed; he had to find out what this was all leading to.

Inside Sherlock gazed quickly around. “ Temporal gateway,” he deduced. His gaze turning back to the man before him.

“Sharp lad.” the Doctor said softly. He touched a screen and tilted it so that Sherlock could see. “This is the sniper who will make the shot in 8 minutes. If he shoots he will kill John Watson. We have to stop him.”

The temporal gateway began to make noise and vibrate at an unusual rate. Sherlock felt for John's Browning in the pocket of his coat.

“John was shot. If that man doesn't do it...?” Sherlock's words trailed off as his mind filled in the blanks. “You are implying that I have to shoot John?” Sherlock said incredulously.

“Sherlock, I think we are past formalities now. I know that you have intimate knowledge of John's scar. You know the exact trajectory. You have to take the shot.” the Doctor said his face contrite.

“I can choose not to take the shot or do a lesser invasive injury?” Sherlock said trying to find alternatives.

“Anything less that the same trajectory, the same damage, with the accompanying infection will result in John traveling a different path, one that will not bring him to you, Sherlock.”

(-_-)

Sherlock exited the TARDIS and killed the sniper with one shot. He shouldered the snipers rifle.

“You have less that two minutes.” the Doctor said.

“You can shoot him.” Sherlock said pushing the rifle toward the Doctor.

“If anyone else fires the rifle, John will have a long and illustrious career in the military only to die a desolate man. A man who never meets the love of his life ̶ he will never meet you.”

Sherlock thought of the near deadly wound. The months of John fighting the infection that weakened his mind and body, contributing intensely to his PTSD. How it left him shattered and disconnected from his life.

“Only you can do this Sherlock.” The Doctor said, standing by.

“No!” Sherlock screamed. Shouldering the rifle, he aimed, held his breath and fired.

(-_-)

In the TARDIS the Doctor motioned Sherlock to a padded seat as he took the rifle from his hands.

“Fuck!” Sherlock said as he leaned forward elbows on knees. He grabbed his curly locks and tried desperately to pull them from his head.

“You love him too much not to shoot him, Sherlock.” 

“I would like you to do something else for me,” Sherlock asked looking up.

(-_-)

John lay in the field hospital bed. His wound had become infected. The several antibiotics used had not fought off the microbe invasion. His body was a battle ground and John was losing the fight. His diminished condition left him totally incapacitated and completely unaware of his surroundings. 

A tall man came into the little alcove that John's bed inhabited. He was dressed in surgical scrubs, with a paper hat, shoe booties and a mask covering the lower half of his face to protect John from any further exposure to bacteria. All that anyone could see of him was his rather amazing eyes, they changed color according to the light reflecting off them. Quietly he lifted a chair and placed it next to John's bed. Sitting, his latex gloved hand reached over and drew John's hand into his.

A rich baritone voice filled the space around the patient. “John, you will not remember my words, but I confess ̶ I love you. You have transformed my reality. I made the shot that brought you to this. I do not regret my action, knowing that it will cause you pain and suffering. I promise, going forward, you will find me the most consummate lover that you have ever experienced.” The timbre of his voice cracked as the tall man stood, kissing John's temple before he turned and left. The man didn't see John tremble noticeably from the words spoken and the tender kiss given.

(-_-)

Sherlock found the Doctor at the outer perimeter of the base camp.

“How many times will this moment cycle through time and space?” Sherlock asked with trepidation. “Do I really want to know?”

“Let me assure you, Sherlock Holmes will always find John Watson at his side,” the Doctor said.

“Is there nothing I can do to alleviate his suffering?” Sherlock wanted to fix this. To keep John from enduring such pain. 

“Altering the fabric of Time is something even a Time Lord can't perform without consequences, my friend.” The Doctor placed a comforting hand upon Sherlock's shoulder as they made their way back into the TARDIS.

(-_-)

“Sherlock,” John spoke as he returned to the flat, only to find his friend and lover staring out the western windows. “I've got...”

John was interrupted by Sherlock's all encompassing embrace and a kiss that nearly brought John to the point of fainting from lack of air.

“What, what's this about?” John said as he tried to breathe.

The adoration in Sherlock's eyes was almost liquid in its consistency, like bright tears. John knew that Sherlock's humanity, his empathy, and his love were all there behind the facade of intelligence. John knew in his heart of hearts that beneath the hard shell, there was a soft spot at Sherlock's center. Now, suddenly it was in full view, but only for John's eyes. Again Sherlock hugged John with an impossibly tight grip.

“John, I...” Sherlock's pain at what he'd done had numbed his senses. “When I think of all you've suffered to be here with me. I sometimes wish that you had never been shot.”

John gently tugged his lover away so that he could view Sherlock's face. He was saddened, wrecked and dissolving into an emotional state that John had never seen before.

“Sherlock,” John said in his best comforting voice. “I don't know what has brought this on. But you have to know that I would endure any pain, any injury, any suffering that was demanded of me; if that sacrifice was the price I had to pay to find you in my life. Believe me, my love, your presence is all I could have ever wished for, wanted or desired.” 

Sherlock gave one of his little boy smiles, a bit crooked and so endearing. When he was like this, John thought he looked so very young. An innocent child devoid of deception. Sherlock drew John into a tender kiss. Then lowered his face into the crook of John's shoulder. 

“I don't know what I have done to deserve such loyalty, such love. To deserve you, John.”

John was caressing and soothing Sherlock. 

“I ask myself the same questions each and every day,” John said in whispered words.

Sherlock looked into John's warm, weathered smile and the love there was undeniable, incredible and something Sherlock knew he couldn't possibly live without.

“I think someone needs a custard cream with a drizzle of clover honey.” John said, disengaging from Sherlock, taking him by the hand and leading him to the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea.

Sherlock followed appreciatively. John always knew what to do in times like this.

“So how was your day?” John asked.

Sherlock didn't want John to know just yet about his day. Someday soon. He remembered the Doctor, his TARDIS and the vastness of Afghanistan. He remembered having to take the shot that would not kill his lover, his life – John Watson.


End file.
